


Nevertheless hopeless

by Jeaven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean in Hell, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Sam's grieving, also alone, and sick, lonely, this is pretty depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5841643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeaven/pseuds/Jeaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between Season 3 and 4.<br/>Sam is stuck in his seemingly endless quest of saving Dean from hell.<br/>When he gets sick on a cold day in Michigan state, everything crashes inside of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nevertheless hopeless

_**Nevertheless hopeless** _

Dean wasn't there.   
He hadn't been for the past two months, but it struck Sam once again. His big brother was gone, and he would be, forever, if Sam failed him again.   
He couldn't move, seemingly like stuck in time, that dragged into endlessness while only about five minutes were over. It was in that moments when Sam fully remembered that he was alone, worse even, that Dean was down there. It was in that moments when Sam saw him getting torn apart by something he couldn't even see, then again down in hell by Lilith.   
It made him angry, bloodthirsty even. At this day, he couldn't think of something he wouldn't do to just have Dean back. To erase those memories of having to watch him get dragged to _hell..._  
It should scare him, making him stop and think about what exactly he was even doing. It didn't. It only made that unbearable hole in his chest more painful.   
He shuddered, his body convulsing against his will.   
Dean was in hell, and he was stuck in a ugly ass motel bathroom with a stupid stomach bug. Because, why the hell not. This was just it. The last thing he needed. Having to take care of himself.  
Sam knew he should be out there. Dean needed him. But he wasn't as strong as his older brother had been. Instead of hunting down he was clutching the toilet bowl with both hands, luckily too much out of it to question what had touched that before him.   
He took slow, deep breaths, willing his stomach to just _hurry the fuck up_ with whatever it was doing right now. He couldn't waste his time with this.  
Something in him shifted heavily, making him gasp in pain. He gripped the cheap ceramic tighter as he started to hurl into the bowl. For the third time this night. And as it was, he could only feel the sting of this own stomach acid because nothing was left to puke up.  
He felt cold sweat forming on his too hot skin and suppressed a whimper.   
His body settled down a bit, but Sam didn't trust it enough to start driving again. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin Deans most precious possession.   
He didn't have the energy to get up and get a town to clean himself, and quite frankly he didn't care. The ache in his chest would still be there, and Dean would still be gone.   
All strength left him. And with that went all his hatred for this world, too. He'd used it to keep himself going, but just like that, it was gone. Leaving him shivering on the cold tiling floor, hopeless.  
He curled up slightly, as much as he could muster up effort, then let his head fall between his legs, his hands helplessly tracing the tiles beneath him. He couldn't do anything against his sickness, or the terrible feeling of loss, or the demon blood pulsing through his veins.

He was damned to sit here, in a run down Michigan motel room, the cold from the floor slowly creeping into his body, making his stomach turn uneasily. And he couldn't even do anything about that because he found he didn't have it in him to actually stand up and do something as unimportant as making the cold go away.   
It was making him go nuts, the hopelessness, the _being trapped in a godforsaken motel room in Michigan state_. He wanted to scream, to rip everyone to shreds that was putting new him through this. But he couldn't. He was too tired to do anything at all.  
He noticed he was shaking. His hair was getting tangled up in his sweat, the remains of his hurling a bit of spit running down his chin. His cheeks and shirt were getting wet from the tears streaming down his face. He was only dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of boxers.  
What a picture he made, the hunter Sam Winchester. So much for _you can go on living without me._  
He really did want to ask Dean if he'd really believed Sam could just forget him and move on. And even if he did, this had been his dying wish...  
"God Dean", Sam whispered, voice shaking and breaking. A tiny sob shook him. "I'm so sorry."  
He had to get on the road again, towards Lilith, revenge, and maybe even justice.   
But his exhausted state dragged him into unconsciousness.

 

 

 


End file.
